


now use both hands

by ms_scarlet



Series: oh no, don't close your eyes [1]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Desk Sex, F/M, Hate Sex, POV Rio (Good Girls), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Rough Sex, You have been warned!, canon-typical levels of emotional constipation, for sure, i know what the people want, kind of?, little iffy on the consent in the sense that it's not verbal, mick is tired, nobody catches feelings, nobody you hear me, spoilers through 311, which ends about as well as you'd expect (i.e. not)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:42:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24228286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_scarlet/pseuds/ms_scarlet
Summary: They never talk about it, what they're doing. They never acknowledge it at all, really, it's just part of what they do now. Rio comes by at night, looks at the books, picks up the money, and lays Elizabeth out on whatever piece of furniture is the handiest.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Series: oh no, don't close your eyes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1769053
Comments: 72
Kudos: 483





	now use both hands

**Author's Note:**

> title from both hands by ani difranco
> 
> \--
> 
> warning! this is not a nice fic!

At first, Rio doesn't have to justify why he's coming by the showroom.

Setting up a new business is a complicated undertaking under the best of circumstances, and he's not about to let some shit he's putting his money into go down without him keeping a close eye on it. 

Add to that he doesn't trust Elizabeth any farther than he can throw her—less, she's fucking up to something, and it's cute that she seems to think he doesn't know it, can't read her like a neon sign. But then she's gonna go and mix her dumbass husband into it? Let him think he's in charge? Give him a few token calls to stroke his ego or some shit?

Yeah, Rio's gonna keep a close eye on that bullshit. He still doesn't know exactly what went down with the dealership in the first place—never asked, wasn't important, wasn't like he wanted to know just for the knowing of her and okay, maybe if at one point he did, he sure as shit doesn't want to anymore—but he knows it ended with that idiot pissing away the family nest egg. 

It'll be a cold day in hell before the brain trust behind Boland fuckin' Bubbles is gonna get the chance to do that with Rio's money, and he'll make damn sure Elizabeth's crystal fuckin' clear on that point.

So, yeah, he comes by a lot. Always after hours, and considering how well that first time went—he was impressed enough that he didn't strangle her, which was why he'd been bringing Mick along in the first place, no matter what that smirky motherfucker might've thought—always just the two of them. 

The worst part was how Mick hadn't said anything when Rio'd gone to meet her the first night. He'd walked over to the passenger seat like it was time for a field trip and made Rio actually tell him he was doing this run solo while he'd just stood there and _looked_ at him. 

If he hadn't known Mick since grade school, it would've been a whole other conversation; the kind he has with his knuckles over and over until the concept of respect takes hold to his satisfaction. It still can be if that fucker keeps pushing his buttons.

And, look, he knows what's up. He knows Elizabeth's fluffing her hair and showing those fucking tits off, putting that scent on, the one that smells like sexy flowers with petals like silk as soft as her—

Between the two of them, it's like they think he's got the self-control of a 12-year-old, like he's gonna pop a boner and immediately try to put it somewhere. 

Like hell. You don't get to the top by making the same mistakes twice. 

Okay, three times. 

It's more than the hooking up. If Rio's being honest, that was probably the least complicated part of it. It was the afterward and all around it shit that fucked things up. 

He can admit he's let Elizabeth get away with more shit than he should've, and done it more than once too. More than that, she got under his skin, got _him_ to do shit he damn well knew he shouldn't—he still cannot believe he'd gone back for that fucking blanket—and that was entirely unacceptable. 

So yeah, Mick had a point, and for as much as he didn't like it, Rio knew it. That's why he'd let him come along in the first place. 

But that's fuckin' over, he's back in control. He's got her number now. 

Incentivized his ass, she's up to something, and it's tied up in what she was doing with her money.

He'd been shocked when he went to her house and saw it was still empty. He'd gone—well, okay, he'd gone back to prove that he could, that he was over it, her, them. And he was. Mostly. 

So what if he got a pang when he'd made himself go in the bedroom? It doesn't have to mean anything, not if he doesn't let it. 

The point is, she'd been making money. Not a lot, but enough that he'd thought for sure she'd have started filling her house back up with the kind of frivolous suburban bullshit currently stuffed in five units at the storage spot—he hopes he's there to see her face if she ever puts together she's had the key to get it back the whole time. 

When he'd walked through her house and seen room after room still empty, he'd got that twisted feeling she always inspires recently. It's a combination of heavy dread that she's gonna serve up some more bullshit that'll complicate his life and electric anticipation that she's playing their game, that she's got a move up her sleeve.

And that right there should be enough of a justification to keep coming by when keeping an eye on the business set up wears thin. 

What's he supposed to do? Trust her to cook the books without supervision? Not only did that get them caught last time, but she steals from him like she gets off on it.

She probably does, now that he thinks about it.

Fuck, why does that _do it_ for him?

When Rio slips into the showroom, all the lights are off except a solitary desk lamp in the office in the corner. The weak glow shining through the half-closed blinds is just enough to illuminate the ghostly silhouettes of the reinstalled floor models but not much more. He can see the shape of Elizabeth concentrating on something spread out on the desk, and he carefully closes the door behind him so he doesn't make a sound. 

She's too easy to sneak up on. It's fun as fuck for him, but she really needs to pay more attention to shit happening around her. 

He makes it all the way to the office and pauses in the doorway, but she still hasn't looked up, so he allows himself a minute to study her. She's got on this sweater with a little peephole right over her tits, and if that weren't enough, she's bent over the ledger on her desk, offering the most inviting view straight down it. His dick twitches as he remembers what it felt like to get a handful of them. How nearly unbearably soft that snow-white skin on the underside is. How her hips jerked when he'd caught her nipple between his teeth, flicking his tongue over the very tip. How she'd blinked down at him, eyes big and blue and full of wonder, startled by her body's capacity to feel—

He shakes himself out of the memory. He doesn't let himself revisit that day if he can help it.

A lock of hair has fallen in her face, and he balls his hand into a fist, raising it to knock on the door frame. 

"How're sales, _boss?_ " He coats the last word in as much sarcasm as he's got in him, curling his lips around it in a way he knows will piss her off almost as much as the verbal reminder she isn't in charge. 

He has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back the genuine smile threatening to break through when her head snaps up on cue, eyes flashing like he knew they would.

"Great," she snaps. "On track with my projections."

She's got that prissy little self-satisfied tone she always gets when she tosses in some business jargon. It lights him the fuck up.

"Yeah? Your dumbass husband ain't lost all my money yet?" 

He lets himself full-on grin at the way Elizabeth's face goes stony. He knows she's worryin' about the same damn thing, but she'll die before admitting it to him. He'll never understand the knots she twists herself in over that dumbass motherfucker. 

"See for yourself," she says, pushing her chair back and standing up, but before she can move out of the way, he steps up behind her. He crowds her against the desk, leaning in to look over her shoulder but holding himself enough apart that she can't feel how her quiet gasp and shaky exhale affects him. 

He looks at the book spread out on the desk without processing anything about it. His entire world is hyper tuned to the woman in front of him, practically vibrating with the tension of holding herself as still as she can, not allowing herself to give an inch. His fingers nearly twitch with a desperate, burning need to break her composure, to make her react, to get another one of those soft, breathy sounds out of her.

Elizabeth makes the best sounds when she lets herself go. Short, staccato gasps as she climbs to a peak; soft, fluttery sighs as she slides over the edge of it; low, husky moans as she gets pulled under; he'd even gotten a disbelieving, joyful laugh out of her when he'd shown her just how good it can be, how much she can take.

He can't help himself, he turns his face to the side, nose brushing just so against her hair and breathes her in. The smell of her washes over him: bright and floral with an undertone of something deep and rich that's a pale shade of what he knows he'd find if he buried his face in her neck, but is still enough to make him so hard so fast, for a second he thinks he might embarrass himself.

God, he fuckin' loves that smell. He'd been drowning in it that day in her room. Had smelled the ghost of it for weeks afterward, and it'd driven him entirely around the bend. Had him telling his boys to chop up a corpse for fuck's sake, all to get her to come back. 

He steps back. "Looks good to me."

She spins around to face him, two spots of color riding high on her cheeks, eyes so big, so blue, so dark with want he could fall into them if he weren't holding tight to his impulse control with an unshakeable, iron grip. She blinks at him once, twice, swaying towards him almost imperceptibly.

For a second, he thinks she might break, and his pulse thrums in anticipation. 

But she doesn't, he can see it, the moment she regains control. 

"Anything else?" she asks, as cool and composed as an ice cube, like she hadn't been a single touch from melting against him only seconds ago. The challenge of getting her to give, the thought of the victory when she inevitably does, makes his blood sing. 

"Mmhmm," he hums, low and smooth and wrapped around a smile that's more of a gauntlet thrown down between them. 

"What?" she asks, her voice impressively level, but he can see how her knuckles are white where she's gripping the edge of the desk. 

"My cut," he says, his smile going pointy and sharp when she sees him seeing her and lets go, flexing her fingers. 

"By the door."

Sure enough, there's that fuckin' diaper bag sitting by the door, and he nearly rolls his eyes. Black duffles are classic for a reason. Elizabeth might get her rocks off at the idea of him and his boys cartin' around a mama bag, but it attracts attention. He makes a mental note to throw the damn thing out. 

"'Til next time," he says with a two-fingered salute, scooping the bag up on his way out the door before stopping and turning around. "That sweater looks good on you, ma." 

He almost laughs out loud when her jaw drops. He doesn't know if she didn't think he'd acknowledge it or if she really didn't think he'd be looking, but either way, her surprise is a victory he carries with him back out to his car. 

—————

Rio stays away for two weeks after that, ignoring her texts, enjoying the way they get more and more transparently worked up. Elizabeth thinks she's so fuckin' smooth when she's about as subtle as a brick to the face. 

But when he does reappear at the store—she still doesn't hear him coming, she needs to work on that—she's wearing a fuckin' dress, and he's glad she hasn't seen him yet because he can't stop himself from grinning. 

Maybe it ain't for him, but given the fact that he doesn't think he's seen her legs since he came back—aside from that one night at the bar when she was definitely feeling herself—it seems like this is an intentional break in the pattern. Either way, he fuckin' _loves_ the idea that she's been dressing up all week, not sure if he's coming but wanting to be ready if he does. 

Sure enough, this time, she gets up and comes around the desk before he has the chance to box her in. She keeps her back to him, sliding the book around, inviting him to come look over her shoulder, angling her hips just so in a way that tells him that's not all she's inviting him to do.

It's cute, the way she thinks she can anticipate his moves and beat him at his own game.

When Elizabeth looks over her shoulder to see if he's coming—those big Bambi eyes half-lidded, that pink kitten tongue darting out to wet her lips—for a second he's right back in that bathroom, head full of static, nearly unable to believe what's happening in front of his eyes.

But he's not back in the bathroom, and he knows what kind of strings come attached to giving in like that, and he's not—he's not about to let her tie a fucking string around his dick in a neat little bow and lead him around by it. No way in fucking hell.

So, he comes in close, leaning up against her and pressing his hips lightly into hers. He lets her feel him hard against her—he's only human and god _damn_ does she make one hell of a picture—lets her think she's _won_. 

Rio grins to himself as she arches her back, grinding back against him and tilts her head in what's basically an engraved invitation to do whatever the hell he wants to her neck. He'd bet good money she's spent the past week gettin' herself off to the memory of their last encounter. He wonders if she's gone out and replaced the vibrator he'd found in her bedside table or if she's been using her fingers. Wonders if that makes her remember how much bigger his are, how much deeper he can reach. 

He leans in, lips nearly brushing her hair, the scent of her filling his nose, and drags a hand up her thigh, fingers gliding over the smooth skin, under the hem of her dress and up. When her breath hitches and her hips give an involuntary wiggle against him, he bites down ever so slightly on the shell of her ear. She lets out a whisper of a moan, low and hungry and barely there, but the sound seems louder than it would've if the room hadn't been so full of heavy, loaded silence.

"Looks good to me," he hums and steps back, spinning on his heel, not commenting on the lurid, floral duffle she's stuffed his cut in and left sitting by the office door, and getting the fuck out of there before she knows what's happened.

He gives himself blue balls, but it's worth it because the last thing he hears before leaving the building is her frustrated howl and the sound of something heavy crashing to the ground like she's thrown it or swept the desk clear.

—————

The next time he comes by, there's a jingle when he tries to slip in through the door, and Rio almost laughs aloud when he realizes Elizabeth's put a fucking' bell on it.

She's got herself all done up in that turtleneck sweater and jeans, she's even got her coat on, despite the fact that it's not exactly cold in here. She's gotta be uncomfortable as hell, pretending like she was about to leave. 

He amuses himself by keeping it professional, obscenely satisfied by the way her eyes widen and face falls when he slides into one of the visitors' chairs, and gestures for her to give him the book. 

"Where you off to?" he asks, running a finger down the neat columns of numbers, mostly just because it makes her squirm.

"Buying a mattress," she says, stiffly and he has to bite his cheek to keep from laughing, even as he wonders if that means she's done with whatever squirrely shit she was up to with her money before.

"Yeah? Meetin' car man to test 'em out?" He doesn't know why he says it, it's not like he fucking cares.

Elizabeth doesn't say anything for a long moment, and when he glances up at her, she's shifting around like she's struggling with something, biting the corner of her lip, and he sees a flash of that pointy little tooth of hers, the one that makes her smile go all crooked when it's wide enough to peek out.

He goes back to the books. She'll say it or she won't, he's not going to let her get some wrongheaded idea he gives a shit.

"He's not—" she clears her throat. "Not that it's any of your business, but we've separated." 

She says it all prim and proper but with a lilting edge to it like she thinks she's giving him something other than a whole new kind of headache. 

"That smart?" he asks, slapping the book shut, and she blinks at him, obviously having expected him to be something other than pissed the fuck off at more of her bullshit. "You're the one that set all of this up so he'd think he was in charge, you really think you should be fuckin' with him like that?"

"I—he—I thought…"

"Oh, you _thought?_ " 

She shuts all the way down at that, mouth snapping shut, eyes flashing. 

"Keep him in check," he says, flat.

"I _am,"_ she bites back. "When he thinks I might actually leave him, he gets desperate to try and work it out. He's on his best behavior."

Rio sits back, considering her. It's a cold move, normally one he'd respect, admire even, but in this instance, it unsettles him, and he doesn't want to think about why.

"Whatever you say, darlin'. You're the one on the hook if it fucks with my money."

"It won't."

He doesn't bother responding. Elizabeth knows the score, and if it still hasn't sunk in yet, there isn't shit he can do to make himself any clearer. 

At least something's getting through, he thinks as he grabs the black duffle by the door on his way out.

—————

Rio sends Mick for a few weeks after that. Let her fucking make of that what she will, it doesn't matter to him.

He could do without Mick being a smug fuck about the whole thing, though. He doesn't say shit about it, and he doesn't report anything out of the usual every time he comes back, but Rio can tell he's waiting for him to ask about it.

He's not going to. If everything's running smoothly, that's all he cares about.

—————

Eventually, Mick full-on fucking mutinies, and that's some fucked up shit, honestly. Not only is it a level of disrespect for the chain of command that Rio can't get away from these days, but it's disappointing on a personal level that Mick refuses to have his back.

"I don't give a shit, the two of you are giving me an ulcer," Mick says when Rio tells him as much.

A fuckin' ulcer, like Rio doesn't have stomach damage of his own where the scarring on his spleen presses up against it. 

He refuses to give Mick the satisfaction of asking what Elizabeth's been doing on her end.

But fuck it, he'll cut the insubordinate little shit a break. Handle his own messes. What fucking ever, it's fine. 

So Rio goes back, white-knuckling the steering wheel the whole way, trying to figure out how he wants to play it, what he'll say to her when she inevitably mouths off with some sarcastic shit about where he's been.

Except, when he storms in—throwing open the door so it crashes against the wall and drowns out that stupid fucking bell she still has on the damn thing—Elizabeth's coming out of the office before he's made it all the way over there. Even with the lights off, he can see the relief that splashes across her face clear as day and something in him _twists_ then releases.

"Shut the fuck up," he says, coming right up to her and not giving her a chance to open her fucking mouth, to say one fucking word, before he's threading a hand in her hair, yanking her head back and kissing her.

The harsh, animal sound she makes into his mouth burrows itself into his brain and straight through into his bloodstream, wiping everything else away. 

They're staggering backward into the office, bouncing off the doorframe, and not breaking apart. She sinks her teeth into his lip, and the taste of his own blood blooming bright and copper across his tongue has him shoving her back against the desk. He lets go of her hair to hook his hands around her thighs, hoisting her as she hops up, pulling her against him as her legs wrap around his waist, grinding herself closer still.

He's so fucking hard, the pressure's almost enough to end it right there. He pulls back to give himself a half a second to get it together before slamming his hips against hers, all the more furious that she's got that kind of effect on him.

Rio lets go of her legs, yanking her shirt up and over her head, leaving her to figure out untangling herself from it as he cups her tits, digging his fingers in, thumbing her nipples through her bra. He fastens his mouth to her neck, the underside of her jaw, sucking bruises everywhere his lips touch, letting himself drink his fill of the tastes and scents of her. 

The fact that he wants to, that he can't stop himself now that he's letting himself go has him pulling back, breaking her hold on him. The tiny mewl Elizabeth lets out when he breaks contact, shaking herself free of her shirt and reaching for him, infuriates him as much as it thrills him. 

He knocks one of her grasping hands away, catching her other wrist and using it as leverage to jerk her off the desk. She staggers, not quite getting her feet all the way underneath her before he spins her around and shoves her down. She catches herself and plants her hands, an invitation engraved in the arch of her back, the angle of her hips, the way she rocks back, trying to rub against him.

She's got a skirt on, some kind of pencil number he distantly wishes he'd taken a minute to appreciate more. Part of him hums in pleasure that she's still dressing for this, for _him,_ even after all those weeks. But it's drowned out in the thundering beat of his pulse, the ragged gasp of their mingled breathing as he pushes it up and rips her panties off, finding her wet enough that two of his fingers slide right in. 

A flash of something scorching and satisfied blazes through him at the confirmation that she's been as worked up as he is.

"You missed this, yeah?" he asks, fucking her rough and hard, curling his fingers on every stroke the way he remembers drives her out of her mind, flicking his thumb over her clit. Sure enough, it only takes a minute before she's clenching and melting around him, drenching his whole hand.

"Remember being fucked right, for the first time." She'd never said, but he knows enough about her, could tell from the way she responded when he'd had her bent over that sink, from the sheer surprise he'd read all over her face in the mirror when he'd made her come on his fingers, that it probably wasn't an inaccurate assumption.

Sure enough, she whimpers and grinds down on his hand, so openly wanton and needy, he forgets that he doesn't owe her shit and rewards her by edging another finger in. She lets out a high pitched whine as she clamps down tight on him.

 _Fuck,_ he can barely get his belt undone, his other hand clumsy and nearly shaking, need pulsing through him to the point of pain. 

She's so fucking responsive, so demanding, so baldly honest in her want once she's given in to it, it's his undoing every goddamn time. 

He shoves his jeans down, just enough to pull his dick free, and he lines up, yanking his hand out of her and thrusting in before she can do more than whimper. The molten heat of her envelopes him, shorting out every one of his nerve endings, and can't stop the jagged groan that tears free when he bottoms out, blending with her answering cry. 

For an endless moment, Rio can't move, can barely even breathe, trying to get his bearings, scrambling for the fraying threads of his control. 

Then he grabs her hips, and she gasps as his fingers dig in. He's probably bruising her, but he doesn't care, likes it even, the thought of her finding his fingers still on her skin the next day. From the way she bucks and moans, she doesn't mind either. He pulls out and slams into her so hard her elbows buckle, and she nearly falls forward onto the desk. 

He gives her a second to steady herself, cursing himself for the consideration she hasn't earned, sure as fuck hasn't shown him, before he starts to move, pounding into her in earnest. 

She meets him thrust for thrust, jackhammering her hips up into his with a frantic, relentless energy, and he nearly loses himself again as she clenches down on him, fluttering and gushing around him.

"You like that, yeah?" He asks, not giving her any quarter. "Getting fucked?"

She whimpers, falling forward on the desk again, but he's not done, and neither is she, he knows it from the way she's still rolling her hips and grinding back against him. He leans over her and gathers her up, pulling her back against his chest so he can hold her up, shoving the cups of her bra down to get a handful of her tits.

"He ever fuck you so good you come without him touching you? Without you touching yourself?" He hums the words right in her ear, teeth grazing it as he fucks up into her. 

Elizabeth's breath catches and stutters, and she's gripping him like a goddamn vise, her hair catching on his chin as she shakes her head. 

"Yeah, I didn't think so," he says, smooth and low, rolling her nipple between his fingers. "You ain't never had it this good have you?"

She shakes her head again, but that's not enough for him.

"Say it," he growls, pinching her and making her gasp.

"No!"

"No, what?"

But she's come back to herself that she's done playing along. With his face pressed up against hers, Rio can feel her grit her teeth, not wanting to give him any more than she already has. He smirks, tilting his head so he can nip at the hinge of her jaw. He slides a hand down her torso, fingers finding her clit as he rolls his hips against her ass, making her cry out.

"No, what, Elizabeth?"

She's still holding out, so he keeps fucking her, circling her clit in tight, rough circles until he feels her start to flutter. She keens when he pulls his hand away and changes the angle of his thrusts, keeping them shallow so she can feel him moving inside her but not enough to get her there. 

It's enough for him, though. He can feel the heat pooling in the base of his spine, tightening his balls. He doesn't know which he wants more: for her to surrender or for him to come while she's still holding out, leaving her right on the edge.

"No, what, Elizabeth?' He repeats the question, soft, barely more than a husky whisper. "Tell me, and I'll let you come."

"No, it's never been _this good."_

It's a hoarse, guttural cry and the best of all her sounds. Rio slams into her all the way home, as deep as he can and flicks his thumb over her clit in the same motion once, twice, and then she's full-on howling, exploding around him and overwhelming every single one of his senses. He buries his face in her neck and comes with a short, sharp noise he's barely able to keep from being her name.

There's a long moment when neither of them speaks, both of them fighting to catch their breath. Elizabeth sags against him, and he still has his arms around her, not letting himself think too hard about why it feels so good in this exact moment. 

Eventually, he feels her tense like she's about to try to wiggle away, and before she gets the chance, he lets go of her, stepping back and pulling out of her so fast she stumbles forward, falling against the desk.

He doesn't bother trying to clean himself off, only tucks himself away, and pulls his pants back up. He glances over at her as he buckles his belt, and she's blushing as red as a fucking stop sign, tugging her skirt back down.

Before she can do more than blink at him as he bends down and snatches up the discarded scrap of her torn panties, stuffing them in his pocket. 

He straightens up and chucks her chin, smirking to himself as she sputters, unable to find the words before he's grabbed the bag she'd set by the door and leaves.

—————

When he swings by next week, Elizabeth's got that keyhole sweater and a knowing smirk on again, paired with another skirt, this one shorter and girlishly floaty. It swirls when she moves and drapes lightly over his head when he gets her on the edge of the desk and ducks under it, fastening his mouth on her and working her until she's laid all the way out, hair hanging off the other end, completely boneless. 

He shoves the sweater all the way up, jerking off and coming all over her tits and bra, but she's too fucked out to give him any shit for it. She just lazily swipes a finger through the mess and licks it off. 

He leaves her lying there like that without a word, getting the fuck out before he can say or do something stupid. 

Stupider than what he's already doing, anyway.

—————

They never talk about it, what they're doing. They never acknowledge it at all, really, it's just part of what they do now. Rio comes by at night, looks at the books, picks up the money, and lays Elizabeth out on whatever piece of furniture is the handiest. 

It's not—Rio refuses to let it be a routine. Or a habit. He doesn't realize how much he's gotten used to it—not looking forward to it, he's not that far gone—until he turns up one night, and she isn't there. 

"What the fuck are you doing here?" 

"Hello to you too, asshole," Annie says from where she sits behind the desk, feet propped up on top of it, eating Cheetos and watching what looks like fail videos on YouTube. 

"Emma's sick," she continues, like that explains fuck all. "It's Beth's week with the kids, and she didn't want to leave her."

That stops him up short, he hadn't realized the separation was actually a thing, he thought that was just a stick Elizabeth was using to keep the dumbass in line.

"So, how does this work?" Annie pausing her video. "What does Beth do?"

It's only years of practice that keeps him from letting anything show on his face.

"Where's the book?" He knows he sounds pissed off, but he figures that's fine, he's not trying to make friends.

"God, are you ever anything other than intentionally unpleasant? Here." Annie slides the ledger across the desk and hits play on the computer, settling back in the chair. "Let me know if you need anything else from me, I guess."

Rio flips through the pages, checking the entries that have been added since the last time he'd been here. When Elizabeth hadn't wanted to wait for him to finish and had come round the desk, dropping to her knees between his legs and—

He clears his throat, glancing over at Annie.

Turning his attention back to the numbers that haven't required his attention in weeks, he shifts a little, adjusting himself in his seat.

"The kid okay?" he asks, not looking up.

"What?" He flicks a glance at her, and Annie's staring at him, incredulous. "I'm sorry, did you actually ask how Emma's doing, or am I having some super specific, extremely delayed acid flashback?"

Rio snaps the book shut and stands up. "Where's my money?"

"Jeez, lighten the fuck up. It's right here." Annie pulls a duffle out from under the desk. "Emma's fine, she's got a bad cold or mild flu or whatever. She's got a little bit of a fever, so Beth wanted to stay close."

Annie pauses, squinting at Rio. "She was weirdly upset about missing the drop, though."

"It's part of her job description," he says, grabbing the bag.

"Uh-huh," Annie says, like she doesn't believe him.

He turns to leave, not bothering to respond when she calls after him.

"I'll tell her you said hi!"

—————

The next week Elizabeth fuckin' apologizes for missing the last time, explaining about Emma, saying she should've texted, but she wasn't sure if she was going to skip until the last minute and shit. Rio lets her ramble, telling himself he likes seeing her all twisted up over it, but it rings hollow.

He fucks her from behind that night, bending her over the edge of one of the showroom tubs, not wanting to look at her face. It's good—it's always good with them—but afterward, he feels itchy and restless, and he doesn't know why. 

He texts next time, making sure she's going to be there. 

If he relaxes at all when she sends a _yes_ back immediately, it's only because he'd rather come by another time than deal with her fuckin' sister if he doesn't have to.

—————

"I think Annie knows something," Elizabeth says a few weeks after that, curled up naked next to him in the empty hot tub.

"Hmm?" Rio asks, not really paying attention, idly twisting his fingers in her hair where it's spread across his chest.

"She keeps offering to do the drops for me."

"So?"

"So, she keeps _looking_ at me every time I say no."

Rio shrugs, not really seeing the problem.

" _So,_ what do I tell her?"

"Tell her whatever you want, ma."

"What? About _this?_ " 

She's sitting up now, looking at him all blue-eyed incredulity, and she's got a tone about her that puts his back up. 

"I can't—I'm not—"

Yeah, he really doesn't like the way she's looking at him, like there's some big fucking problem he's not acknowledging, like its the end of the fucking world if anyone finds out they've been getting down and dirty.

"Can't what?" he asks, sucking on his lip, giving her a chance to surprise him.

It's not like he fuckin' cares if she tells anyone or not, but he can't stand the hypocrisy of her acting like she's too good for him, like this is somehow beneath her, when she was the one screaming _fuck me harder_ loud enough to rattle the light fixtures not ten fucking minutes ago.

He sits up, rolling his shoulders, trying to work out the ache that's sprung up in his chest. 

Elizabeth's still not answering.

Fuck this, he doesn't need her bullshit, let her figure her fucking problems out herself. He grabs his briefs, caught on the edge of the tub from when she'd flung it over her shoulder while she tried to suck her own trail of hickeys into his thigh to match the ones he'd left on hers. 

"What are you—you can't—"

"Can't what?" He asks again, hopping out of the tub to collect his scattered clothing. He finds her panties and his fingers twitch to grab them but leaves them lying on the ground. He's done with that. 

"Are you—do you _want_ me to tell her?"

Maybe if she's asked it differently, less like she thinks she knows how he feels—like she knows any fucking thing about him at all—and without that little thread of triumph underneath the question, maybe he would've—he doesn't know. Slowed down. Said something else. But she asked the way she did, so he doesn't. 

"I don't really give a fuck what you tell anyone, sweetheart. Announce it at the next PTA meetin' for all I care. Just make sure you show 'em a picture, yeah? I want to give 'em as close to the full service as possible."

He threads his belt through the loops, heading to the office to grab the duffle. When he comes out, Elizabeth's still blinking at him, arms crossed over her chest, anything remotely smug or victorious gone from her face, replaced by confusion. 

"What are you—what service?"

He makes himself take the route through the showroom that brings him right past her, leaning in and softly brushing a lock of hair out of her face for the first time in longer than he can remember. 

Her eyes flutter shut, and he feels absolutely nothing. 

"Helping sad, lonely housewives get off once their husbands are done with them."

Her eyes snap open, and he makes himself look at her long enough to watch the hit land and the hurt bloom. 

He's empty, untouchable, she's nothing to him. 

Rio doesn't look back.

—————

He sends Mick next week. He's got better shit to do with his time. 

**Author's Note:**

> shout out to [nickmillerscaulk](https://nickmillerscaulk.tumblr.com/) and [foxmagpie](https://foxmagpie.tumblr.com/) who let me whine at them about not knowing how to end this and gave me a bunch of suggestions I promptly ignored to present y'all with this trainwreck instead


End file.
